


the ocean within me

by Barrhorn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Kinda, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, it's more about feelings than anything, to explore commitment, using heat as an excuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:26:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9569456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrhorn/pseuds/Barrhorn
Summary: It’s true that she needs Fareeha, needs the intimacy and closeness, needs her touch and her steadiness and her- just her. That’s what her heat is all about, in the end: everything that she gets from Fareeha, and everything she gives in return. And that’s so much more than just passion and desperation and love.(Still contains mostly just passion and desperation and love.)





	

She can always tell when her heat is coming because of how hard it gets to concentrate. Normally Angela is the type to be at her desk for hours, working away solidly until she glances at the clock and is aghast at the time it shows.

Instead, her focus is ruined by constant thoughts about her partner. Angela finds herself wondering where Fareeha is, looking again and again at the clock, charting out the normal passing of the day. At eleven she’s at the gym, at two at the firing range. Now at seven she’s relaxing somewhere, and now the daydreaming really starts as she pictures Fareeha sitting and reading, fingertips playing with the corner of the pages, a small smile on her lips as she reads something that amuses her. If Angela were to go to her now, she’d look up with that same smile, her eyes warm and welcoming as she puts the book aside. (She never needs to mark her place; Fareeha always remembers precisely where she left off, a talent that Angela is simultaneously charmed by and jealous of given the amount of markers thrust in all her research material.) But it’s the thought of her voice and rumbled laughter that spurs Angela to stand, to abandon her cluttered desk in order to seek Fareeha out.

She finds her in the common room, the book already set aside as she watches Hana and Lucio square off in some game that Angela doesn’t recognize. Without interrupting, circling the long way around so she won’t pass in front of the screen, Angela sits next to Fareeha on the love seat, closer than she usually would. Their legs press together as Angela snuggles into Fareeha’s side, and she can hear Fareeha’s pleased hum (she knows what this is, knows these signs well) as she laces their fingers together, their joined hands resting on Fareeha’s leg.

“Are you two being mushy over there?” Hana demands with false irritation, and Lucio laughs.

“What do you think?” he grins, his eyes never leaving the screen either. From what Angela can see it looks like he’s losing, but he always enjoys the competition no matter the outcome. It’s why he’s one of the few who will play Hana over and over again.

“You could try going left,” Fareeha’s saying, maybe trying to change the subject, maybe continuing a conversation. “There’s more cover that way, and the tunnel would give you an escape route.”

“You got a point,” Lucio says as his character heads right. “But if I take your advice she’ll know exactly what I’m doing.”

“I know exactly what you’re doing anyway, scrub lord,” Hana retorts, and Angela hides her smile in Fareeha’s shoulder. “And why are you helping him? We pilots have to stick together!”

“Do you even need the help?” Fareeha asks, just as Hana throws her arms in the air as “Victory!” appears over her screen and “Defeat!” over Lucio’s.

“Nope!” Hana turned toward the pair, flashing them a grin and a peace sign. “I just love an audience!”

“Okay hotshot,” Lucio says, leaning back as he mashes through the post-match screen. “Let’s go again!”

Angela sits and listens to Hana and Lucio’s banter as Fareeha tosses in a comment or two every so often. She’s not really paying attention to the game, rather just enjoying the moment and the easy atmosphere between the group. Really, she’s breathing in Fareeha, the warmth of her skin and the scent of her soap, drinking in the way she huffs at Hana’s well-meaning barbs and laughs with Lucio.

_She’ll be such a good parent someday,_ Angela thinks as she watches them, squeezing Fareeha’s fingers lightly.

And maybe that’s the heat talking, that connection and commitment between them, but even without that influence it’s something she’s thought before. Fareeha responds to her grip with a soft smile, and Angela can’t be stuck on a couch with her anymore. “Shall we?” she suggests quietly, and a tremor runs through Fareeha, like she has to restrain herself from rising right then. Instead they wait for the current round to end, for Hana’s grin and Lucio’s sigh before excusing themselves.

“Good, now you’ll stop distracting me,” Hana says, but she glances between them with a wink as Lucio’s wave of farewell is interrupted by his look of disbelief.

“That was you being distracted?” he protests, and they slip out of the room as Hana promises to bring even more destruction upon his head.

The walk to their room is silent, hands together, arms brushing occasionally, a rising flush in her cheeks the only thing giving away Angela’s growing anticipation and desire. So when the door closes behind them, she’s instantly in Fareeha’s arms with Fareeha’s breath hot against her ear.  
“Slowly,” she murmurs, and Fareeha kisses her temple. Tomorrow will be the time for nails and teeth and _need need need_ , with the full heat pulsing through her and driving her mad. For now it’s just a feeling hovering in the back of her mind, insisting on the presence of her Alpha, a jealous instinct that needs to reaffirm - for herself and everyone else - that she is Fareeha’s and Fareeha is hers, and that no one will interfere with the relationship.

It’s Fareeha’s quiet shushing that makes her aware of how her hands have twisted possessively in Fareeha’s shirt, and she releases her, smoothing down the wrinkles she’s caused as Fareeha laughs, catching her hands in her own and kissing them. “I’m right here,” she promises, fingers now finding their way to the top button of Angela’s blouse and undoing it. “May I?”

“Since you’ve already started-,” Angela retorts before being hit by a new aching wave of heat, swallowing thickly before adding, “Please.”

Somehow without her fingers ever faltering, Fareeha kisses her, softly and slowly, lingering even as her fingers brush seemingly carelessly across Angela’s collarbones and breasts and stomach as they work their way down her shirt. As the last button gives way, Angela tilts her head to deepen the kiss, shivering as Fareeha’s hands slide back up her body, push the blouse down off her shoulders, and chase the fabric down her arms until it falls to the floor. Gentle pressure against Fareeha’s chest is all it takes to break the kiss, backing Fareeha up a step so that Angela can grab the bottom of her shirt and pull it up and over her head, even if Fareeha has to duck a little to help at the end.

They come back together, with Fareeha’s hands freeing Angela’s ponytail, Angela admiring the play of muscles across her torso, tracing the lines with her fingertips. That spark in her stomach burns a little brighter, a touch hotter, her heat coming on faster than usual, and she bites back the noise that rises in the back of her throat. She’s never had a problem with her status, with being an Omega, but sometimes it is embarrassing how quickly the great surgeon known for her brilliance and steady hands becomes driven by instinct and need only. Last time her heat had washed over her _very_ quickly, and it had ended with her pinned against the bedroom wall, Fareeha’s fingers inside her and her cry muffled by her teeth buried in Fareeha’s shoulder. She can almost hear Fareeha’s laughter from that moment, surprised and pleased and triumphant, and she shudders at the memory.

“Angela?” Gentle fingertips brush her face, and then Fareeha’s cupping her cheek, the desire in her eyes currently giving way to concern.

“I’m fine,” she says. “I just-“ She pauses as another tremor races up her spine and this time she can’t hold back the low moan that fights its way from her. ”I need you.” It’s an easy admission, but she’s torn between the fire clawing its way through her body and her desire to not give in quite so easily. It’s true that she needs Fareeha, needs the intimacy and closeness, needs her touch and her steadiness and her- just her. That’s what her heat is all about, in the end: everything that she gets from Fareeha, and everything she gives in return. And that’s so much more than just passion and desperation and love.

The fingers fall away from her face, and Angela looks up with a bit of despair, only to be caught by Fareeha’s dark, dilated eyes, the corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk. “I know,” she says, some of that Alpha arrogance showing through, but the quiet promise in her voice has Angela instantly approving. “I know what to do.” She steps back, one hand on Angela’s shoulder, more reassuring than restraining as her other hand works open the button and zipper of her own pants. When Angela reaches out to help, however, that hold on her shoulder tightens slightly, and Fareeha’s smirk widens. “Wait,” she says, her voice low and teasing. “Slowly, remember?”

_To hell with slowly,_ Angela thinks, especially as Fareeha slides her pants down and kicks them off; it’s not fair how good she looks, no matter how much time Angela knows she spends in the gym and practice facilities. It just shouldn’t be humanly possible for someone to be so attractive.

When Fareeha laughs, Angela realizes that she must be staring, that her thoughts must be so obvious. But her pout just makes Fareeha laugh again, sets her thumb running across Angela’s mouth only to push past her lips when she starts to speak. The gentle pressure against her tongue silences her, yes, but also sends desire crawling up her spine, the back of her neck suddenly feeling hot and her eyes fluttering shut as everything in her seems to focus on that one point of contact. The taste of her is enough to satisfy her for a moment, though she instantly craves more and draws her tongue across the pad of Fareeha’s finger. She hears Fareeha’s soft sound, pleased and hungry, and hums a response, smiling to herself as Fareeha inhales sharply.

“Enough,” Fareeha says gently, and Angela opens her eyes, her jaw going slack and allowing Fareeha’s thumb to pull away easily.

The soldier is standing naked in front of her, shaking off the last bra strap with the return of her hand, and she’s just so-

Angela steps forward, her hands finding Fareeha’s hips, nuzzling her nose against her collarbone. For a moment, one of those tightly coiled springs in her relaxes. Yes. This is exactly what she needs. Fareeha’s warmth and the familiar expanse of her skin, which Angela’s fingers trail across unaimed, unthinking, with the raised scar _here_ and the spot that makes her shiver _there_. For a moment the fog of her heat clears and still all she can think of is how much she loves this woman, how much she desires her right now even without the howling urgency of instinct.

She can feel Fareeha toying with the zipper on her skirt and tilts her head up to kiss her, agreement and approval on her lips. And Fareeha nips at her bottom lip as she pulls the zipper down with a deliberate slowness that is now as thrilling as agonizing, winding that coil back up at a rate that Angela feels comfortable with. The skirt slips to her hips, and Fareeha presses forward, trapping the fabric between their bodies so she can completely undo the zipper. She hooks her thumb in the skirt and Angela’s underwear (and the slight wetness of her skin makes Angela bite her lip) but Angela covers Fareeha’s hand with her own, holding it in place until Fareeha lets go and the skirt slumps to the floor under its own weight.

And Angela steps out of the skirt, drawing Fareeha away from the door and toward the bed. Fareeha’s eyes hold a question as she follows, her fingers drifting up Angela’s stomach to trace the line of her bra around her sides to her back. Angela answers it by simply reaching behind her back and undoing the clasp herself, though she lets Fareeha’s hands finish removing the garment, and it falls to the floor as they continue to move, almost a dance as their feet move together, their hands never leaving each other. When they reach the side of the bed they pause, only for Fareeha to pull Angela tight against her, kissing her with more fervor than previously, hard and insistent even as her fingers weave gently through Angela’s hair, supporting her though the kiss.

To give herself a chance to regain her breath when the kiss ends, Angela finally slips out of her underwear. “Just wanted to make sure we’d make it to the bed this time,” she says, looking up at Fareeha through her lashes, watching the way she smirks at the memory.

“Any other preferences?” Her tone is too innocent, and undermined by the way her hands smooth over Angela’s skin, pausing on the back of her thighs like she’s ready to pick her up again.

And Angela can’t let her get away with that so easily. “I thought you knew what to do?” she teases, though she can hear the roughness in her voice as she presses forward, ignoring the protesting insistence of her heat to just brush her lips against Fareeha’s.

She’s not expecting Fareeha to grin at her or to step behind her in one smooth motion. “I do,” she says and pulls Angela down onto the bed with her, so that Angela is sitting between Fareeha’s spread legs, her back pressed against Fareeha’s chest. She leans back into her as fingers glide over her shoulders and down her arms, nails tracing a path over her skin until Fareeha’s hands nestle, palm up, in Angela’s own.

“Show me what you need,” Fareeha says into her ear, her breath and warm voice washing over her and spiking another burst of heat in her.

She’s so surprised that she hesitates, feels Fareeha’s smile against her neck before she bites, just hard enough to make Angela gasp and twitch.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes, I-“ Angela pauses, stroking Fareeha’s fingers with her own, feeling where her knuckles are chafed from the Raptora gauntlets. She considers their positions and the way that Fareeha has freely given her control of the pace, letting her match her oncoming heat, to rush or delay it as she pleases.

She turns her head to kiss Fareeha as she places one of her hands on her breast, her arm across her side and chest, letting the other one fall to her leg, fingertips just brushing against the inside of her thigh.

(That one she keeps a good hold of, and Fareeha smiles against her lips as she finds how little she’s allowed to move.)

As the kiss ends, Angela settles herself against her lover once more, acutely aware of everywhere their bodies touch, her whole self preoccupied with Fareeha’s presence. She’s warm, and more than that, she’s _safe._ Before, unpartnered, heats were often a matter of anxiety, of hiding herself away and suffering through it alone. Or, at times, finding someone agreeable who had no problem leaving the next morning after Angela was physically satisfied, if nothing else.

But with Fareeha, Angela finds she actually looks forward to these moments. It’s the closeness and the trust that appeals, and the way that they communicate without words. That annoyingly accurate, wonderfully charming way that Fareeha _does_ understand when Angela’s grasping hands mean that she needs to be overwhelmed, or when slower is better and they should spend hours lost in each other.

Her fingers tighten around Fareeha’s, encouraging the soldier to squeeze her breast, guiding her other hand farther up her thigh before teasingly pushing it away again. She revels in the small huff against her ear and sighs as a thumb brushes her nipple without prompting, spiking heat through her.

“Talk to me,” Angela says, and Fareeha laughs.

“Do you really expect me to think with a beautiful woman between my legs?” she asks, and though her words are as teasing as ever, Angela can hear the soft affection beneath them.

That and Fareeha’s laughter are all Angela needs. Because with her Fareeha lets her guard down so. With her Fareeha deems herself so safe. Angela closes her eyes and smiles. “Think, no. Talk, yes.”

Teeth nip lightly at her ear in retaliation, and then Fareeha’s kissing her neck before propping her chin on her shoulder. “You are beautiful,” she says quietly, and Angela lets her left hand go at a gentle tug, fingers trailing up across her chest and throat before gliding down to her stomach, her skin tingling in its wake. “It’s almost unfair. You’re beautiful in the morning when you wake up and look at me with that sleepy smile.” 

Angela feels heat wash through her body and pulls Fareeha’s hand up her leg again, stopping just short once more, wanting to prolong this moment just a bit longer. She’s so aware of Fareeha’s skin against hers, of her scent, of her voice, all of it enveloping her. The anticipation would kill her if she didn’t love it so much.

Fareeha’s free hand pulls some of her hair out of the way, fingernails deliberately gentle across the back of her neck, and Fareeha nuzzles into the short hairs there. “You’re beautiful when you work, so focused you don’t notice me coming in, when your desk lamp shows your profile just so.”

As a flush rises in her cheeks, Angela presses Fareeha’s hand over her, lifting her hips into the contact. “Please,” she says - gasps, really, as Fareeha’s fingers comply before she can even finish the word. They slide against her, finding her clit immediately, and Angela tries to hide a whine at how light the pressure is; obviously Fareeha’s not yet done with teasing.

“You’re beautiful in that damn backless dress you wore on our last date.”

Even breathless, Angela manages a laugh, remembering the look on Fareeha’s face when she’d first walked out of the bedroom and the unusual impatience with which she’d bounced her leg while they waited for the check at the restaurant. Fareeha trails kisses along her shaking shoulders, then silences her with a flick of her fingers. Even without looking, she can feel the smirk on Fareeha’s lips as her breath hitches.

And then she moans at one firm roll of Fareeha’s thumb, her breath hot against her ear, at her tone of mischief melting into admiration. “You’re beautiful in the Valkyrie, strong and upright. When arguing for peace in the middle of war.”

Angela presses her hand insistently against Fareeha’s, increasing the pressure, demanding without words. Wordless because she twists in Fareeha’s arms to kiss her, ignoring the strain on her muscles to let every sense be filled with this moment, with Fareeha, with them. They find their rhythm there, with each moment they must break apart for every one of Angela’s gasps and shivers, at every motion of Fareeha’s hand and roll of Angela’s hips.

“You _are_ beautiful,” Fareeha tells her when Angela pulls away again, her eyes warm and so, so sincere. “Standing on your own. In my arms. Always.” She empathizes each phrase with a new twist of her fingers until Angela is rising (gently, so gently, into the first of many; they have learned how to move together and pace themselves through these heats) with Fareeha’s name falling softly from her lips.

Her respite, cuddled in Fareeha’s embrace, doesn’t last long. Not with heat pulsing through her, not satisfied, not nearly, and not with her own need to connect, to share, to act. Angela turns in Fareeha’s arms, straddling one of Fareeha’s thighs as she presses their foreheads together. “And you are incredible,” she murmurs. “You are so-“

She falters, trying to find the right words to describe how she feels in this moment, all the things that Fareeha means to her. They are opposites in this: Fareeha has never been one for crowds or speeches, and yet on their own she always seems to know just what to say. But Angela, despite years of presenting her research and attending conventions, never quite knows how to say these quiet sorts of things. Never feels like any of her words are equal to the task of saying everything that she means.

She hopes, instead, that her thoughts are conveyed in the way she resumes that rhythm from before, grinding herself against Fareeha’s skin with slightly more emphasis, just a touch more urgency. She hopes that her love shows in her eyes the way Fareeha’s does in hers, that her fingers running across Fareeha’s tattoo and dragging down over her lips convey her appreciation for Fareeha’s strength and kindness. And yet it’s not enough for her, all the things she needs to say a sweet ache in her chest, and she shakes her head at the hopelessness of her task. Fareeha waits, familiar with this internal struggle, her hands steadying Angela’s hips, and that patient understanding is just one more thing to adore.

“You are so unfalteringly good,” Angela says finally. “How did I get so lucky?”

And Fareeha just laughs, moves her hands up to frame Angela’s face and kiss her. “I ask myself that every day,” she says when the kiss ends.

Angela shakes her head at Fareeha’s smirk. “Do not try to one up me on this, Fareeha Amari,” she replies tartly, her hand sliding between Fareeha’s legs, their breaths catching at the same moment: Fareeha from the touch, Angela at just how ready she is.

“Oh, I won’t,” Fareeha murmurs, and the liquid smile in her eyes ignites another burst of desire through Angela’s stomach.

They move together easily, Fareeha’s hands wandering over Angela’s skin, cupping her breasts, squeezing her ass and pulling her in closer, pulling her down harder onto her thigh. Angela, in turn, balances herself with one hand on Fareeha’s shoulder as she trails kisses along Fareeha’s neck and collarbone, smiling at every little sound her fingers coax from Fareeha.

“Angela,” Fareeha is saying soon enough as they rock together. A warning, or a request.

And Angela presses a kiss to Fareeha’s ear, her breathing just as harsh. “Please,” she whispers, and curls her fingers just so, and Fareeha shakes beneath her, the hard muscles of her thigh pressing up into Angela, sending her following quickly after.

Sated for the moment, her heat retreats and curls into a pool of warmth below her stomach, content to wait a few more hours. Leaving Angela to feel Fareeha’s chest heaving against hers as their heartbeats start to slow and even out. Leaving her to press soft, fluttering kisses to Fareeha’s jaw, the soldier’s head leaned back against the headboard and her eyes closed until she laughs and pulls Angela against her. They stay cuddled together until the sensation of sweat drying on her skin makes Angela pull back gently and Fareeha sigh.

“I’ll let you have first shower if you change the sheets while I have one,” Fareeha offers, watching Angela lazily.

“Tempting,” Angela muses, tapping her finger against her lips in mock thought. “But I’d rather do both of those things together.” She watches the smile spread across Fareeha’s face, watches the way amusement creeps into her eyes, and feels her own heart lift.

“Is that wise?” Fareeha asks, clearly holding back laughter as she stands.

“Absolutely not,” Angela answers, holding out her hand to her partner, loving the familiar way Fareeha’s fingers entwine with her own as they head for the shower.

Even if they manage restraint, she doesn’t want the moment to end just yet.


End file.
